But You Could Yet Be A Tiger
by Chloroform
Summary: Before reaching Skull Island, Jack Driscoll loses his inspiration to write and wanders to the bridge for a conversation with the Captain. [[Slashy subtext.]]


**But You Could Yet Be A Tiger**

Before reaching Skull Island Driscoll loses his inspiration to write and wanders to the bridge for a conversation with the Captain. Slash... Or not. Unless you're looking for it, it isn't there.

**Disclaimer:** I have no connection with the movie, or the big monkey, or... anything. And I am not trying to make any money out of anybody. Nor am I succeeding.

Englehorn was aware of the American watching him only when the ship crested a wave suddenly and rocked more harshly than she had been before, causing him to sway. Driscoll's legs were unused to the sea, and he had to grip the door frame lest he stumble; a movement that drew the captain's eye. He made no sign of acknowledgment, concentrating on the still somewhat featureless block of wood cupped in his left palm while he traced the flat of his knife across it with his right.

He wasn't certain what to make of this passenger, not yet, and having the man stood there unspeaking unnerved him a little. A few moments more and he felt his concentration had vanished, and with it the determination to ignore him until he went away. He straightened in his seat, his shoulders aching a little from being hunched over the way he was.

"Mr. Driscoll." Englehorn said, his voice rasping and guttural. He cleared his throat, finally turning to look at the writer. "Is there something?"

He tried not to sound too much like he wanted to be left to brood, though it was true. He wasn't in the mood to entertain tourists – not that he was ever in the mood for such a task.

Driscoll smiled, almost apologetically.

"No, nothing. Am I bothering you?" He asked, stepping into the cabin. Englehorn had the inclination that even if he said "yes" Driscoll would linger – out of place in his fancy clothes and expensive cologne. He could tell he would stay from the agitation in him; the way his expression looked only seconds from a frown and the measure of his steps. He'd only come to the bridge because everywhere else on the ship was dank and unfamiliar. Englehorn would have thought the impression he gave earlier in the day would have warned him off. But no, Driscoll was here and he showed no sign of being uncomfortable in the captain's space. Englehorn would have thought it odd, but Americans were all a mystery to him. A mystery and a nuisance, but good at parting with their money.

"You don't have to stop," Driscoll said, gesturing at hands he couldn't see as he came closer, leaning over to glance the surface littered with wooden shavings and a quarter dozen statuettes. His hand strayed to touch one before he glanced at the captain, who eyed him cautiously.

"May I?"

Englehorn made a gruff sound and shrugged one shoulder in a manner for him to go ahead. He thumbed the tip of his knife and blew the dust away.

"You did this today? And this? All three?" He asked, picking up another and examining it. Soldiers, so intricately carved and detailed from the creases in their uniforms to the hollows of their cheeks.

"Yes." Englehorn answered, taking the last one from the man as he decided to reshape one of the boots. His hand brushed Driscoll's knuckles as he did so and he expected some reaction from the other, a jolt or a flinch. Nothing at all. He had been so sure that he had spooked him, too. Englehorn wasn't sure if this knowledge was dissatisfying more than intriguing.

"They're very good. You have good hands." Driscoll commented, watching him manipulate the knife with ease.

"I mean, skilled hands, good with wood." Driscoll closed his eyes, his hand at his forehead as he groaned. "You know what I mean. Please. Before I make it any worse."

The captain let out a harsh laugh, his eyes glittering.

"Yes." He agreed with a nod. He picked up his fourth figure, the one that wasn't yet decided, and he began to work. It wasn't long before the American was talking again, wanting to wash away the taste of fumbled conversation from his mouth. He talked about himself instead of Englehorn, deciding that yes, that would be safest.

"I'm trying to write but it's not coming to me. I have to force it, and then it doesn't work. It's just... It's meant to just be there, do you understand?"

Englehorn made a noise in the back of his throat. Driscoll just wanted to talk anyway, he didn't need anything more than a conversation for one. He listened though, and he understood better than the writer knew. It was the same for him when he carved his figures. He started out not knowing what they would become right up until they were finished. He could already see the block in his hands taking form though.

"I could blame it on the smell down there, or the ship moving, but it isn't. A writer can write anywhere. It's in here,"

Driscoll pointed at his chest. The captain gazed up from his task to watch him, "hmm"ing neutrally.

"It's frustrating. I know what I want to say, but the words evade me. It comes out wrong, strings of everything that I am not trying to fix to paper. Everything but what I really want."

Englehorn was almost finished. The silence that settled was thoughtful, focused. He had to add the finishing touches, and Driscoll was beginning to feel the itch to write once more.

"You know, I think I have it. Thank you, captain." The American said quickly, already retreating back to thought, desperate not to lose it again. He turned to leave, inspiration gleaned and already threatening to flee. He had to write it down before it did. _Had_ to.

"Mister Driscoll?" Englehorn called, a smirk lifting the corners of his mouth as he presented the tiny statue to the man. Driscoll turned and the captain tipped it into his outstretched palm. The smirk broadened into a grin. Not short of bewildered, Driscoll's gaze fell again to the figure of the chimp, crudely carved but not ugly, weight braced on it's forearms. It was grinning at him too.

"A chimpanzee." He laughed roughly. "But you could yet be a tiger."


End file.
